From all that royalty of blest content, By a confed'racy 'twixt love and frailty. Aurelio. Glories in public view but add to misery, Which travails in unrest at home. Auria. At home! That home, Aurelio speaks of, I have lost : Sleeps, heaven knows where. Would she and I, my wife On any outcast parings coarse and mouldy, [Act iii., Sc. 3.] LOVE'S SACRIFICE. A TRAGEDY [PUBLISHED 1633]. BY JOHN FORD Biancha, Wife to Caraffa, Duke of Pavia, loves and is loved by Fernando the Duke's favourite. She long resists his importunate suit; at length, she enters the room where he is sleeping, and awakens him, to hear her confession of her love for him. BIANCHA. FERDINAND, sleeping. Bian. Resolve, and do; 'tis done. What, are those eyes, Which lately were so over-drown'd in tears, So easy to take rest? O happy man, How sweetly sleep hath seal'd up sorrows here! But I will call him: what, my Lord, my Lord, Fer. Who calls? Bian. My Lord : Sleeping, or waking? Fer. Ha, who is't? Bian. "Tis I: Have you forgot my voice? or is your ear But useful to your eye? Fer. Madam the Duchess! [Ford's Works, ed. Dyce, 1869, vol. iii.] Sit my sorrows swell: Bian. She, 'tis she; sit up: up and wonder, whiles The nights are short, and I have much to say. Fer. Is't possible 'tis you? Bian. "Tis possible : Why do you think I come? Fer. Why? to crown joys, And make me master of my best desires. Bian. 'Tis true, you guess aright; sit up and listen, With shame and passion now I must confess, Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue Poor wretched woman liv'd, that lov'd like me ; Fer. O, Madam Bian. To witness that I speak is truth, look here; Thus singly I adventure to thy bed, And do confess my weakness: if thou tempt'st My bosom to thy pleasures, I will yield. Bian. Now hear me out: When first Caraffa, Pavy's Duke, my lord, Not mov'd by counsel, or remov'd by greatness: I have done so: nor was there in the world But thou, Fernando. Do I love thee now? Bian. True, I do, Beyond imagination: if no pledge Of love can instance what I speak is true, But loss of my best joys, here, here, Fernando, Be satisfied and ruin me. Fer. What do you mean? Bian. To give my body up to thy embraces; Fer. How, Madam, how! Bian, I will: Do what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choice; what say ye? Bian. Yes, take it; that, Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine. Fer. O me- -come, come, how many women, pray, Bian. Fernando! Jest not at my calamity: I kneel : By these dishevel'd hairs, these wretched tears, Fer. I must believe ye; yet I hope anon, Bian. No; by the faith I owe my bridal vows: But ever hold thee much much dearer far Than all my joys on earth; by this chaste kiss. This sacred temple. Tis enough for me, You'll please to call me servant. Bian. Nay, be thine: Command my power, my bosom, and I'll write This love within the tables of my heart. Fer. Enough: I'll master passion, and triumph In being conquer'd, adding to it this, In you my love as it begun shall end. Bian. The latter I new vow--but day comes on: (Kneels.) What now we leave unfinish'd of content, Each hour shall perfect up. Sweet, let us part. Fer. Best Life, good rest. [Act ii., Sc. 4.1] THE CHRONICLE HISTORY OF PERKIN WARBECK [PUBLISHED 1634]. BY JOHN FORD Perkin Warbeck and his Followers are by Lord Dawbney presented to King Henry as Prisoners. Dawb. Life to the King, and safety fix his throne! I here present you, royal Sir, a shadow Of majesty, but in effect a substance Of pity; a young man, in nothing grown To ripeness, but the ambition of your mercy : We observe no wonder; I behold ('tis true) An ornament of nature, fine, and polisht, A handsome youth indeed, but not admire him. Dawb. From sanctuary At Bewley, near Southampton; regist'red, With these few followers, for persons privileged. King H. I must not thank you, Sir; you were to blame To infringe the liberty of houses sacred: Dare we be irreligious? Dawb. Gracious Lord, They voluntarily resign'd themselves, King H. So? 'twas very well; "Twas very well. Turn now thine eyes, Young man, upon thyself and thy past actions. What revels in combustion through our kingdom A frenzy of aspiring youth hath danc'd: Till wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt Warb. But not my heart: my heart Will mount, till every drop of blood be frozen By death's perpetual winter. If the sun Of majesty be dark'ned, let the sun Of life be hid from me, in an eclipse [Mermaid Series, ed. Ellis. See page 574 for a further extract from this play.] Lasting, and universal. Sir; remember, There was a shooting in of light, when Richmond Dawb. Whither speeds his boldness? King H. O let him range: The player's on the stage still; 'tis his part: Warb. Bosworth field: Where at an instant, to the world's amazement, A morn to Richmond and a night to Richard King H. A pretty gallant! thus your Aunt of Burgundy, Your Duchess Aunt, inform'd her nephew; so The lesson prompted, and well conn'd, was moulded Into familiar dialogue, oft rehears'd, Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth. To put a feigned blush on; scorn wears only King H. Sirrah, shift Your antick pageantry, and now appear In your own nature; or you'll taste the danger Of fooling out of season. Warb. I expect No less than what severity calls justice, And politicians safety; let such beg, As feed on alms: but if there can be mercy In a protested enemy, then may it Descend to these poor creatures, whose engagements 1 His followers. |